Three sisters were sent to Aldridge Hall to win a duke’s fortune — one was prepared to charm him, one was the backup, and Nora only wanted to disappear. She hid behind a curtain to avoid being noticed, but the Duke found her first — and from that moment, he never looked at her sisters again.

PART 7

Nora’s hands came up, resting flat against his chest. She felt the heavy, frantic thumping of his heart beneath his immaculate waistcoat.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Give me a bucket.”

Nathaniel let out a sound half laugh, half groan, and kissed her — not polite, not delicate, but deep and possessive, a collision of two people who had spent their lives holding their breath. Nora kissed him back with equal ferocity, hands tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

The descent into the ballroom was a tactical operation. Nathaniel did not sneak her down the back stairs. He did not ask her to change into a ball gown. He waited while she put on her least-ruined day dress — a simple navy wool — then took her hand, laced his fingers through hers, and walked her down the grand staircase in full view of sixty guests.

The string quartet stumbled, the cellist missing a note entirely, as a horrific, screeching silence fell over the room. Fans stopped fluttering. Glasses of punch lowered. Every eye snapped to the staircase — the Duke of Aldridge, and the plain, unadorned third daughter of the disgraced Montgomery family.

Lady Edith dropped her glass. It shattered on the parquet, crystal fragments spraying across polished wood.

Nathaniel didn’t flinch. He led Nora straight across the floor, the crowd parting before them, directly to Lady Edith and Rosalind.

Edith looked one breath from fainting, her face cycling white, purple, and a terrifying gray. “Your grace! What — what is the meaning of this?”

“Nora is ill. She’s meant to be in bed.”

“Nora is perfectly well, Lady Edith.” His voice carried effortlessly over the dead, silent room. He reached into his coat and withdrew the folded parchment, holding it out. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Edith took the paper with trembling hands, unfolded it, and scanned the legal script. Nora watched her mother physically deflate — the rigid posture collapsing, the frantic, terrified energy that had driven her for three years simply vanishing.

“You — you bought it,” Edith whispered.

“The Yorkshire estate is free and clear. Your debts are settled,” Nathaniel said, entirely businesslike. “Consider it a bridal settlement. I have asked for Nora’s hand in marriage, and she has accepted.”

A collective gasp echoed through the room. Lady Shelby actually swooned, requiring a footman to catch her.

Rosalind, standing beside her mother, looked at Nora. For a terrifying second, Nora braced for hatred — for the accusation that she’d stolen the prize, broken the unspoken rule. But Rosalind didn’t look angry. She looked at the deed in her mother’s hands, then at Nathaniel — and slowly, a genuine, completely uncalculated smile broke across her beautiful face. The tension left her shoulders. The invisible corset she wore over her mind snapped.

“Thank you, your grace,” Rosalind said quietly. She meant it. She had never wanted him. She had only wanted to stop being terrified of the future.

Nathaniel inclined his head to her with genuine respect, then looked down at Nora. The Duke of Aldridge, in front of the most judgmental gossips in the country, raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Shall we find a quiet corner, Miss Montgomery? I believe there’s a curtain in the drawing room with our names on it.”

“Your grace,” Nora replied, a small, genuine smile curving her lips.

Six months later, the Somerset mud was still a problem. Spring thaw had turned the grounds of Aldridge Hall into a swamp. In the estate manager’s office, the fire fought off the April chill. Nora sat behind the massive oak desk, hair pinned in a haphazard knot slowly unraveling, fingers stained with ink. Before her lay the green leather ledger.

“If we delay the new carriage,” she said, running a finger down a column of figures, “we can allocate the funds to slate for Lower Hingsby. That covers twenty cottages before the autumn rains.”

Nathaniel stood by the window, sleeves rolled up, watching the muddy fields. He turned, leaning back against the sill, a fond, amused smile playing on his lips.

“I am the Duke of Aldridge,” he pointed out mildly. “It’s expected I have a carriage that doesn’t rattle over cobblestones.”

“You have a horse. You can ride. The tenants can’t sleep with buckets on their beds.”

“Ruthless.” He crossed the room, resting his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to her neck, right where her pulse beat. “Absolutely ruthless. I married a tyrant.”

“You married an accountant,” Nora corrected, leaning back into his warmth. She closed the ledger — the satisfying thud of thick pages echoing in the quiet room.

“And you love it.” His laugh rumbled deep in his chest. He spun her chair around, framing her face with his hands, looking at her the way he had that first night behind the velvet curtain. There were no ball gowns now. No poetry. Only the mud, the ledgers, and the quiet, unshakable certainty that they were holding the roof up together.

“I do,” Nathaniel said softly. “God help me. I do.”

THE END